The Heiress Companion (4 page)

So, she thought, the Prodigal was home at last; the guest of
honor would bless the company with his presence at the party, and all, finally,
must be right with the world.

Thankfully, at least in Miss Cherwood’s opinion, she was
kept much too busy with the superintendence of minutiae, and Mr. Bradwell was
much too occupied in entertaining his mother and Margaret with stories of
Madrid and with reacquainting himself with his home, for them to meet much.
When she thought of Lady Bradwell’s prodigal son at all, it was either to
wonder how such a sweet-tempered parent could have raised such an objectionable
son, or to reflect with thanks on how well Lyndon Bradwell, Lady Bradwell, and
Margaret seemed to be going along. Having left Margaret with strict
instructions that Lady Bradwell was on no account to overtax her strength or to
strain her eyes, Rowena was able to turn her attention to the last pressing
issues of silver, champagne, and iced cup.

Now and again Margaret, or Mr. Bradwell, or even, on one
memorable occasion, Lord Bradwell, turned up at the office door inquiring if
there were errands to be run. Margaret she dismissed with the admonition that
the best thing she could do was to keep Lady Bradwell company; to Lyn Bradwell
she said she would not hear of the guest of honor running errands for his own
party; and when Lord Bradwell offered his assistance, Rowena went so far as to
tell Lyn that the kindest effort he could make would be to keep his lordship
out of the house and away from the office. Mr. Bradwell, after a moment’s
surprise, agreed, and a few minutes later Rowena heard him unenthusiastically
requesting his brother’s company for an hour’s ride.

Left alone with the last of her lists and the occasional
company of Drummey, Mrs. Coffee, and the chief groom, Rowena was pleased to
organize the final details of Lady Bradwell’s party into complete readiness.

Mounting the stairs to her room that evening to dress for
the party, Rowena at last allowed herself some of the old, breathless
anticipation before a party, amusing herself with outlandish images of
hairstyles and ribbons. In her room she found her best evening dress, a silk
muslin in lavender, lavishly sprigged in white, with worked flounces, a fichu
of netted silk, and rows of tiny crystal beads at the low neck and sleeves.
Frowning, Rowena rang for her maid.

“Ruth, I asked that the green muslin be laid out,” she began
severely.

“So you did say, miss,” the girl agreed broadly. “But her
lady said you was to wear the best you had, miss; called me special into her
room to tell me so, and never you mind about that Miss Margaret, for her lady’s
found her something ever so pretty,” the maid finished apologetically.

“Machinations behind my back! Well, I shall have to scold
her for it, shan’t I?” Rowena said lightly. “Thank you, Ruth.”

Hot water was poured from the tin can into the basin; the
fire was stirred up, and still the maid stood there, awkwardly. “Yes?” Rowena
asked at last, wondering what was coming now.

“O, miss, do you think I could stay and help you dress? It
ain’t just for me, like; I know I’m a clumsy sort, but I’ve three little
sisters, and if I could tell ’em, on my next half-day —”

“That you helped me prepare for the ball?” Rowena asked with
amusement. “Very well, you may stay if you like.” So when Miss Cherwood had
done washing, and had skillfully applied a touch of Pomade of Roses to her
cheeks, a light scattering of rice powder on her face, Ruth helped her to don
the lavender gown, and brushed out her long, chestnut-brown hair. At last
Rowena repossessed herself of the brush, and in a few quick motions twisted
the bulk of her hair into an intricate pile atop her head, fastened in two
amethyst combs, threw a light scarf across her shoulders, and declared that she
was ready. Ruth, conscious of the honor done her, was lavish in her praise of
Miss Cherwood’s appearance. Rowena laughed, thanked her, and dispatched her
back to the servants’ hall. After one more cursory glance in the mirror, she
left the room to join the party in the dining room.

Dinner was planned as a simple meal that evening, since
supper would be served a few hours hence. Lady Bradwell, waiting with her sons
and Margaret in the library (and Lady Bradwell had indeed found a charming gown
for Margaret, although Rowena could not imagine how it had been done on such
short notice), complimented both the Misses Cherwood on their appearance, and
all went in to dinner in high spirits, to be entertained for the entire of the
meal by one of Lord Bradwell’s interminable hunting stories.

Having organized the household for the party, Rowena now
deferred to Lady Bradwell, who looked to be enjoying the office of hostess
immensely. She and her sons stood at receiving for a short while, but the list
of guests was not long enough to make that an arduous task, and the spirit of
the evening was informal enough to allow them to cut the duty shorter still. On
the arrival of her dear friend and long-absent neighbor Anne Ambercot, Lady
Bradwell was content to sit and coze comfortably by the fire, adjured in search
of Margaret Cherwood and which left Lord Bradwell to make his way to the
library, where masculine noise proclaimed that the brandy was circulating.

Margaret was to be found with her cousin, and was in fact
delivering a stern lecture. The effect of little Margaret scolding her tall
cousin was much the same as a spaniel hectoring a mastiff, and Mr. Bradwell had
to school himself to greet them both with equanimity.

“Rowena, I wish you will not be so goose-ish,” Miss Margaret
was saying as he drew nearer. “You know that Lady Bradwell has told you that
you were to enjoy yourself this evening; you have worked hard enough, after
all. Now will you cease to act like such a — a —” She faltered.

“A companion, Meggy? It is, after all, what I am. I have a
certain responsibility to Lady Bradwell, after all, and forgetting her is
exactly what I ought not to do. Besides which, I really am beyond the age and
the inclination to get myself up a flirtation.”

Margaret blushed. “I never suggested that, Renna! But Lady
Bradwell strictly enjoined you —”

She was interrupted by Lyndon Bradwell. “I think Miss
Margaret has the right of it, Miss Cherwood. This is not a formal party, after
all, and we are not the sorts of toplofty gudgeons to deny you your evening’s
jollification. You told me yesterday that I was the guest of honor at this
fete. In that case I wish you will please me and join the throng like a
sensible creature.” The words were spoken to Rowena, but it was at Margaret
that he looked, and to Margaret that he offered his arm.

“
In that case
,” Rowena
echoed, “I can hardly refuse. I shall follow you in and make myself — Good
heavens, Lully Ambercot!”

Margaret and Mr. Bradwell regarded her with some amazement.
They were joined a moment later by a gentleman who seemed quite as
flabbergasted as Miss Cherwood.

“Renna Cherwood?” he asked in tones of disbelief. “It is!
Does Mamma know you are here? And Jane and Lizzie? Good God, how long has it
been?” He gave every indication of intending to give Rowena a most brotherly
sort of bear hug, but she put out a hand and told him sternly that if he
crushed her dress she would never forgive him.

“But do you know Mr. Bradwell?” she continued. The two
gentlemen nodded cursorily. “And this is my cousin Margaret Cherwood. Ulysses
Ambercot, Meggy.”

Margaret smiled. In fact, Margaret veritably sparkled at the
tall, fair stranger with the brush of pale hair and strong, bony features. “How
do you do, sir?”

Mr. Ambercot relinquished his hold on Rowena for a moment to
take Margaret’s hand. “Better every minute, Miss Margaret, believe me.” Then,
returning to Rowena, “But you must tell me where in thunderation you have been
these — Lord knows how many years. And first, I must take you to see Mamma. You
see her there, by the fire with Lady Bradwell.” Before Miss Cherwood could make
more than a dip to Mr. Bradwell and her cousin, Mr. Ambercot had taken her hand
in his arm and led her away.

“How do you come to know the Bradwells, Renna? You and that
pretty cousin of yours?”

“I’m here as companion to Lady Bradwell, Lully.”

He stopped in his tracks. “A companion? You? Leaving aside
the fact that I
know
you must be rolling in
the blunt, Renna, I can’t imagine you cooped up when you could be having
adventures like the old times.”

“Could I? My dear, the greatest amount of money in the world
could not excuse the impropriety of my doing on my own as I was used to do with
Mamma and Papa. Even if I engaged a veritable battalion of companion-chaperones
I couldn’t travel as we used to do, and I should probably be bored to tears
regardless of the adventures I had with a flock of old ladies chivying me.”

“Well, then, why ain’t you married with a parcel of brats? I
thought I heard something about that several years back, when you were in
Brussels, just before —” he paused.

“Just before Papa died? Why, yes, I was engaged to a very
fine young lieutenant in the first Heavy Dragoons — the Royals. Fortunately, we
agreed we should not suit, and jilted each other. That was just before
Waterloo, and what might have been a nine-day wonder was swallowed up in all
the confusion soon after.”

“And no one since? Rowena, you were on your way to becoming
a real Diamond when I last saw you, and the bucks of St. James’s could hardly
have ignored you —”

“Nor did they, when Mamma and I returned to London. But we
were in mourning then, and in any case, what makes you think I wanted a buck of
St. James’s? I simply never met anyone I wished to marry. I was abroad — where
were we? Paris, I think, when I should have made my come-out and gone to Almack’s
and all the rest, and somehow I never
did
.
After Mamma died I lived with my Aunt Dorothea — Margaret’s mother — for a
time, but what I saw in her household did not convince me of the virtues of the
convenient marriage! And now, can you imagine how I would show to advantage
among all the chits six or seven years younger than I at the assemblies?
Margaret takes the wind all out of my sails, you know.”

“Nonsense,” he chaffed. “And how came you here?”

“I asked my man of business to find a situation for me,
somewhere where I would be needed. It did seem, after all, somewhat better than
playing ape-leader from my aunt’s house. But enough of that. Tell me, how is
Auntie Anne?”

“If I am not mistaken,” Ambercot said wryly, “she and Lady
Bradwell are busy making matches for all of us, and are quite happy at it, too.
And see, there is Jane talking with Angelica Hardimann, and Eliza — O lord,
Rowena, let me warn you about Eliza.”

“Warn me about her? Why, is she dangerous?”

“Not exactly. Just a plaguey nuisance. Since my aunt Berring
took her to Bath for two months the chit’s been the most irritating piece of
nature imaginable. Calls herself Lisette, or at very least Eliiii-zah, and
thinks she can outshine a regular stunner at ten paces. And has assumed all the
airs to go with it. Mamma thinks she’s amusing, and so too would I, I suppose,
if I hadn’t the horrid notion that she shan’t outgrow it. Lizzie was always the
most contrary chit.”

“Don’t brothers always think that of their sisters?” Rowena
suggested.

“I don’t say anything of the sort about Jane. Lizzie’s too
spoilt by half, if you ask me. M’father made a pet of her, if you recall. So if
Lizzie starts to come the debutante with you, give her a proper setdown, I beg.”

“When have you ever known me to give anyone anything so
odious as a setdown?” Miss Cherwood quizzed.

“Any number of times. You may have only been a scrawny thing
of fourteen when last I saw you, Rowena, but damme if you hadn’t the presence
of a dowager in purples even then. And I seem to recall a remarkable
proficiency in the profanities of the French and Spanish tongues.” They had
begun to move toward Lady Bradwell and Mrs. Ambercot again, and the latter,
suddenly recognizing in Rowena the precocious, coltish girl she had last seen a
dozen years before, broke off her chattering to call her son to her.

“Rowena Cherwood, is that truly you?”

“I must suppose so, ma’am,” Miss Cherwood replied, bending
to kiss the older woman affectionately.

“Rowena, you never told me you knew the Ambercots!” Lady
Bradwell accused.

“I don’t believe I ever thought of it, ma’am. If you recall,
you
never told
me
that you knew them either.”

“I must have mentioned Jane to you, telling you about Jack.”

“I believe you did, but only as that Dear Jane... with a
sigh at the end of it. For a fact, I’ve known the Ambercots all my life: My
father’s seat in Cambridgeshire marched on their house there, and I grew up
tormenting Mr. Ambercot and his sisters.”

“No, I beg to correct you!” Ulysses Ambercot insisted. “It
was only
me
you tormented. Jane and Lizzie
you seemed to like well enough —”

“Eliza was much too young to play with you hoyden children
then,” Mrs. Ambercot interrupted her son’s accusations repressively. “But my
dearest child, you look absolutely beautiful! And very much like your papa.”

“Do you think so, ma’am? Aunt Dorothea was wont to say that
I hadn’t a trace of Cherwood looks in me, or —”

“Exactly the sort of thing I should have expected from
Dorothea Cherwood. A dreadful woman. Ulysses, fetch Jane to me; I’m sure she
will want to make her curtsies to Rowena after all these years.” Mr. Ambercot
acceded gracefully to the command, made his bow, and went in search of his
sister. “Renna, my dear, there was a time when your mamma and I had such plans
for you and Ulysses, and indeed, if I thought it would make you happy I would
join your hands myself and carol ‘Bless You My Children’ with a will to it.”